The Girl In The Rain
by petite etoile22
Summary: The little blonde girl doesn't stop dancing when the monsoon rains begin to pour. Ros Myers wanted to be a dancer once.


_**Author's Note:** Here is yet another angsty fic from me! I don't own Spooks, Kudos and BBC do. Please review, they mean a lot._

_

* * *

The blonde girl doesn't cease her pirouettes and leaps when the monsoon rain starts to pour, not even when both Mother and Nanny shriek mostly idle threats at the top of their voices. Instead, she laughs. There is no school, no lessons, and here in the garden with her eyes closed and head spinning, she doesn't even have a family. A glorious fact for two reasons;_

_She is free._

_And she is alive._

_She dances. She dances until her dress feels like a lead weight against her body, and her nanny drags her back to the house under the shelter of an umbrella. She has a horrendous cold for two weeks afterwards, but she doesn't care. The blonde girl knows what she wants to be when she grows up; a dancer._

* * *

Rosalind Myers sprints down the stairs as fast as is humanly possible, taking four at a time if she can. She simply refuses to die today. She remembers the last time she refused, and look how well that turned out. Though she did receive some small consolation; she woke up in her own coffin. There is an old fire escape on the second floor, but mere seconds of fruitless struggling inform her that it will not be the thing to save her life. She continues her flight, her body still moving with the grace of a dancer. Ros glances down at her watch; when she started her escape, the display had read 2:24. By now, she reckons she has less than a minute and half to get out of this godforsaken building. Ros comes to the conclusion that she doesn't refuse to die, she refuses to cease to exist. That's what the bomb will do.

It will eradicate her.

_

* * *

_

_The blonde girl finds that there are lots of dances that can be done in the rain, some more interesting than others. _

_Especially those done with members of the opposite sex. _

_Michael is kind and gentle, and more suited to her age than the diplomat; she never danced in the rain with him. Michael is a diplomat's child too; a flower that was never allowed to lay down its roots and grow. They are both frost-bitten too, though together they feel capable of bloom. _

_She realises then that she doesn't have to be a dancer to dance. Besides, that childish fantasy has left her altogether. No, when she grows up, she wants to be his wife and the mother of his children._

* * *

Ros finds herself at the bottom of the staircase with 53 seconds to spare, and a ground floor to cross. She's not accepting the possibility of death. Death would mean failure, and failure was something that never existed in the Myers household.

So dying just wasn't going to happen.

Ros kicks open doors, and vaults over furniture, not caring about the damage she is doing. She is fairly certain the bomb will do far worse. She gets to the front door to find that she has been locked in from the outside. Without hesitation, she begins the process of picking the lock; an intimate dance between lock and fabricated key. It clicks open as smooth as can be expected in the time. Unfortunately, another mechanism clicks into place at the same time. In the split second between warm air ruffling her blonde locks and the remainder of the blast reaching her, Rosalind Myers permits herself one small consolation.

At least they will have something to bury.

_

* * *

_

_The blonde girl stands before the small grey slab, and finally understands the fear in her mother's eyes when she went on one of her little adventures without telling her. She never thought that the work her father did, the work she had no interest in, would ever put her life in jeopardy. _

_Michael's grave is a testament to how mistaken she was. _

_They (that ever elusive 'they') had mistaken him for his father. He was driving his dad's car because his was out of petrol, and he hadn't wanted to be late to pick her up. The blonde girl begins a new dance that day. It is slow, and cruel, and numbs her body to the point of no return. She cries, but feels neither her tears nor the rain. _

_She can never be his wife now, so she will be the person who stops these murderous bastards instead._

* * *

Rosalind Myers glances down at the space where her legs should be, and knows that she will probably never dance again. In fact, she will never do anything again. She supposes she should be sad, so she is mildly surprised that the feeling that floods her oh-so-rapidly failing system is that of relief. It is raining, but this time there are no salt tears hiding behind the droplets. From the tight, painful sensation she is feeling, Ros surmises that as well as the lack of lower limbs, she also has extensive burns to the remainder of her body. A rather morbid though enters her head and she clings to it; perhaps her legs are somewhere amongst the wreckage. Perhaps her team will find them and she will be buried whole. The less morbid side of her thinks that she can still attempt one last dance even now. Her mind dances this time, further and further away. She doesn't come back; not even when the voices shriek that she has to.

This time, there is no Nanny to drag her back.

There is no pain, no bitterness, and here in the road with her eyes closed and head spinning, she doesn't even have regret. A glorious fact for one reason;

She is free.

And so, she dances; she dances until her body feels like a lead weight against her soul. She has to stop soon, but she doesn't care.

The blonde girl in the rain knows exactly what she will be when she does.

Gone.


End file.
